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THE  UNSEEN  KING 
and  Other  Poems 

9 


By 
CAROLINE  LESLIE  FIELD 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

Hougbton,  Mifflin  and  Company 

Tfie  Btberstfce  $ress,  (STambriUge 

1887 


t&e  game 


HIGH-LIGHTS.    A  Novel.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK. 


THE    UNSEEN    KING 


AND  OTHER  VERSES 


BY 

CAROLINE    LESLIE   FIELD 

r 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

(Cfce  ntoemtre 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY  CAROLINE  LESLIE  FIELD. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press*  Cambridge  : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  UNSEEN  KING         .       .       .       .       .  i 

ARBUTUS 12 

MEADOW-TALK 13 

FUGUE 15 

GREETING 18 

A  BUTTERCUP 19 

MYSTERY 21 

To  A  PICTURE  OF  POLLY  IN  HER  GRANDMOTH- 
ER'S DRESS 22 

Two  MOTHERS 24 

ATTAR  OF  ROSE 27 

IDLESSE 28 

IM  FRUHLING .  30 

WOOD-MAGIC 32 

FOURSCORE   .        .       .        .               .       .        .  37 

IN  RESPONSE  TO  A  SERENADE       .        .        .        -39 

LIFTED  UP 41 

MIDWINTER 42 

CAPRICE         .        . 44 

How? 46 

IN  THE  DARK 48 


M195648 


IV  CONTENTS. 

BON  VIVANT 51 

THE  STARS  AND  THE  BELL        .       .       .       .  53 

SAFE-FOLDED 56 

ESTRAYED 57 

AN  AUTOGRAPH 58 

EPHEMERA 60 

RAINBOW-GOLD        .......  61 

HOPE 63 

How  SPRING  CAME 65 

A  FIR-CONE 67 

A  JUNE  NIGHT 68 

A  COLUMBINE  HORN 70 

MOUNTAIN  LAUREL 72 


Acknowledgment  is  due  to  Messrs.  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
in  whose  periodical,  "  Harper's  Young  People,"  the  poem 
"  How  Spring  Came  "  first  appeared. 


THE   UNSEEN    KING. 

>HERE  came  a  day  when  King  Abiah 

knew 
That  he  must  lay  aside  his  earthly 

crown, 

And  yield  his  sceptre  unto  other  hands; 
Wherefore,  to  all  the  people  of  his  realm 
Assembled,  sorrowing,  he  spake  these  words : 

"Weep  not,  O  friends,  that  I  too  tread  the 
way 

Whence  never  foot  may  swerve,  nor  soul  re- 
turn ! 

All  men  have  come,  and  all  must  surely  go. 

This  life  is  but  a  passage,  —  not  a  pause  ; 

Who  called  us  hither  also  calls  us  hence. 

And,  verily,  I  know  He  calls  us  all, — 

Though  some  there  be  who  seem  to  hearken 
not ; 

For  at  the  first,  when  ye  had  chosen  me, 


2  > ,  THE    UNSEEN  KING. 

Who  am  a  Jew,  to  be  your  lord  and  king, 
I  grieved  me  much  at  your  idolatry, 
And  strove  to  turn  ye  from  it,  to  the  truth, 
But    found    ye    stubborn.      Then    my    anger 

burned 

Fiercely  within  me,  fueled  by  my  love  ; 
Till,  having  called  on  ye  so  long  in  vain, 
I  turned  my  face  away  and  called  on  God. 
Straightway  He  made  me  answer  :   '  Thinkest 

thou, 

O  man,  my  strength  avails  not  to  destroy 
The  idols  of  this  people  ?     Yet  I  cause 
My  rain  to  fall  for  them,  my  sun  to  shine ; 
Go    thou,    too,    and    do    likewise ! '      And    I 

went; 

And,  growing  clearer-eyed  with  added  years, 
Have  come  to  see  how  every  fruitful  force 
Doth  from  the  inward  to  the  outward  work, 
Never  inversely.     From  the  buried  seed 
Which    needs    must    lie    in    darkness    for    a 

time, 

Beneath  the  blessed  touch  of  sun  and  rain, 
Till  their  united  influence  shall  swell 
Its  hidden  germ  to  bursting  and  to  bloom, 
Learn  we  the  secret  of  the  soul  of  man. 


UNSEEN  KING.  3 

God's  love  is  limitless  ;  his  patience,  too, 
Knoweth   no  end ;  and  both  shall  work,  un- 
seen, 

Among  this  people,  till,  for  very  shame 
Of  its  own  hardness,  every  heart  shall  swell, 
As  doth  the  seed,  to  bursting  with  its  love ; 
And,  hurling  from  it  all  that  hems  it  in 
Or  weighs  it  down,  shall  lift  its  quickening 

life 
To  Him  who  made  it  for  this  very  end." 

He  paused ;  but  all  the  people  rested  mute, 
Save   for   the   smothered   sounds  which   told 

their  grief, 
And,  gathering  his   strength,  the  king  went 

on  : 

"  There    dwells    among    you    one    whom    ye 

know  not,  — 
My    only    son,    whose     face     ye     have     not 

seen; 

Yet  his  shall  be  the  kingdom.     Honor  him, 
Love  and  obey  him,  and  it  shall  be  well 
With  you   and   with  your  children.      Marvel 

not 


4  THE   UNSEEN  KING. 

For  that  he  rules  invisible  ;  by  its  fruits 
Of    peace    and    plenty    shall    his    reign    be 

known. 
Wherefore,  lest,  when  ye  learn  that  I   have 

laid 

My  royal  robes  aside  forevermore, 
And,    shorn    of    purple    pomp    and    princely 

pride, 

Gone  forth  alone,  to  meet  the  King  of  kings, 
Before    whose    presence    all    earth's    glories 

pale, 

Ye  should  forget  the  words  I  spake  to  you 
And   all   the   years   through  which  I    sought 

your  good, 

Swear  to  me,  here,  as  unto  one  whose  hands 
Lay  hold,  even  now,  upon  eternal  things, 
That  ye  will  faithful  be  unto  my  son, 
And  serve  him  truly,  with  all  reverence ! " 

Once  more  he  ceased;   and  like  the  sound 

of  surf 
Swept  shoreward  from  some  deeply  troubled 

sea, 

Arose  a  mighty  murmur,  long  and  low, 
Of  mingled  sorrow  and  obedience, 


THE   UNSEEN  KING.  5 

As  all  that  people,  upon  bended  knee, 
Swore  fealty  unto  Abiah's  son. 

Years  rolled  away.     Within  the  city's  walls 
Sounded  the  shouts  of  children  not  yet  born 
When  good  Abiah  died;  and  bearded  men, 
Who   then  were  boys,   paced   up   and   down 

its  streets, 

Buying  and  selling.  Many  a  voice  was  still 
That  then  had  thrilled  with  sorrow,  many  an 

eye 

That  then  had  wept  was  closed  forevermore, 
And  many  a  wayworn  soul  had  sought  that 

land 

Where  pain  is  not  and  tears  are  wiped  away. 
But  still  the  people  prospered.  From  within 
Those  palace  gates,  where  dwelt  an  unseen 

king, 

Issued   wise   laws    and   counsel.     Wealth  in- 
creased, 
The    nation's    strength    augmented    year  by 

year, 

While  everywhere,  like  the  invisible  power 
Which   clothes    the   bare,   brown   earth   with 

loveliness, 


6  THE    UNSEEN  KING. 

Was  felt  a  nameless  influence,  that  touched 
Each  load  to  lighten  it,  each  wound  to  heal. 

Great  waxed  the  people's  wonder,  for  they 

said, 
"  We  see  him   not ;  how,  then,  doth  he  see 

us  ? " 

And  since,  from  inbred  habit,  they  must  needs 
Mould  each  trait  spiritual  to  some  outward 

shape, 
They  strove  to  figure  forth  their  thought  of 

him 

In  various  images  of  brass  and  stone. 
Vain  essay !     He  had  drawn  too  near  to  them 
For  any  dead,  material  prototype 
To  satisfy  their  sense  of  what  he  was; 
And  in  their  souls  a  mighty  longing  grew 
To  see  and  bless  him  as  they  did  their  gods, 
Those  gods  whose  visible  bulk  now  seemed 

to  them 
Strangely  less  real  than  this  unseen  king. 

Long  they  forbore  to  utter  their  desire : 
But    prayer    repressed    is    like    the    pent-up 
stream, 


THE   UNSEEN  KING.  7 

Which  gathers  force  from  very  prisonment, 
Till,  some  fresh  surge  of  impulse  urging  it, 
With  one  wild  leap  it  bursts  its  bands  away, 
And  rushes,  headlong,  to  its  instinctive  end. 
The  hour  came  when  such  an  impetus 
Was  given  to  the  already  seething  tide 
Of  public  feeling  that  the  flood-gates  broke, 
And,  like  a  mighty  eger  uncontrolled, 
Men,  women,  children,  one  resistless  throng, 
Swept  through  the  city  to  the  palace  gates. 

As  ocean  cliffs  abide,  immovable, 

The    thunderous    onslaught    of    the    watery 

host, 

So  cold,  calm,  still,  those  marble  battlements 
Abode  the  breaking  of  that  human  sea 
About  their   buttressed   base.      And   as   the 

waves, 

In  mid-career  impeded,  hurl  themselves 
In  wild,  white,  upward  fury,  so  a  cry 
Deep-born,  impassioned,  unrestrainable, 
Rang  through  the  quivering  air,  to  fall  again 
In  shattering  echoes  from  the  far  blue  hills  : 
"Oh,  let  the  lord,  our  king,  but  suffer  us 
To  look,  at  length,  upon  his  unknown  face ! " 


8  THE  UNSEEN  KING. 

How   should    he   fail    to    hear    them,    then, 

whose  ears 

Were  ever  open  to  their  faintest  cry? 
Anon  the  answer  came :    "  Abiah's  son 
Hath  heard,  and   grants,    his   loyal   people's 

prayer." 

That  instant  every  eye  was  riveted 
Upon  the  opening  gates,  which  gave  to  view 
An  inner  courtyard,  on  whose  stately  steps, 
In  all  the  glory  of  his  majesty, 
They  should,  at  last,  behold  their  sovereign. 

Lo !  as  they  gazed,  there  issued  forth,  alone, 
In  simple  raiment,  one  whom  they  had  known 
As  their  unfailing,  faithful  friend  for  years  : 
A  man  whose  tireless  sympathy  had  watched 
By  many  a  dying  bed,  whose  ready  smile 
Had  kindled  at  their  joy,  whose  ready  tears 
Had  fallen  for  their  sorrow,  and  whose  hand 
Was  ever  prompt  to  succor  and  to  save. 
Crownless  he  stood  there,  but  it  needed  not 
Royal  insignia  to  proclaim  his  worth 
Unto  those  ardent  people  of  his  realm, 
Whose  grateful  hearts  had  crowned  him  long 
ago. 


THE    UNSEEN  KING.  9 

In  utter  silence,  eloquent,  intense, 
Like  the  ineffable  hush  that  intervenes 
Betwixt  the  lightning-flash  and  thunder-roll, 
Breathless  they  gazed,  till  following  fast  upon 
The   keenness  of  their  wonder  rushed   their 

py; 

And     deafeningly,     from     out     unnumbered 

mouths 
Broke    forth    one    rapturous    shout,  — "  Our 

friend,  our  king  !  " 

When  the  last,  long  reverberation  died, 

In  clear,  familiar  tones  was  heard  the  king : 

"  Hearken  to  me,  O  people  of  my  love  ! 
Ye  see  me  here  a  mortal  man  like  you. 
But  think  ye  that  this  mortal  is  your  king? 
Not  so,  O  friends  !     That  which  hath  guided 

you, 

Which  reigneth  over  you,  ye  cannot  see  ; 
Neither  can  I  behold  it.     Can  ye  see 
Wisdom,  and  love,  and  justice  ?    Ye  see  me, 
But   ye    do    not   see    them ;   and    they  were 

strong 
For  and  amidst  you,  when  ye  saw  me  not. 


IO  THE  UNSEEN  KING. 

Judge  ye  this  earthly  form.     Can  the  things 

seen 

Create,  think  ye,  the  things  invisible  ? 
I  tell  you,  no  !     These  feet,  these  hands,  this 

brain, 

Are  but  the  tools,  the  medium,  of  that  love 
Which  knows  no  end,  that  wisdom  absolute, 
That  personality  which  we  call  '  God ' ! 
To  every  one  of  you  the  full  stream  flows, 
Through  various   channels,  though  ye   know 

it  not 

For  what  it  is.     Never  a  child  is  born, 
Never  a  flower  blooms  or  fruit  matures, 
Never  a  human  heart  creeps  close  to  yours 
Or    finds    response,    save    by    this    unseen 

power. 

That  which  is  in  me,  also,  is  not  mine, 
But  his,  alone,  who  gave  me  for  your  king." 

He    ceased ;    but   deep   within    the    swelling 

hearts 

Of  all  his  people  sank  his  words,  as  sinks 
Heaven's    softening   rain ;    his    looks     upon 

them  fell 
As  falls   the   sunlight.     Lo !   God's   time  was 

come,  — 


THE   UNSEEN  KING.  1 1 

His  perfect  time,  which   balks   our   measure- 
ment. 
From  seed   long  sown   in   darkness  burst,  at 

length, 

The  glad  new  life,  upspringing  to  the  day, 
As  with  one  voice  they  cried,  exultantly, 
"Thy  God  —  the  one  true  God  —  henceforth 

be  ours, 

And  may  his  blessing  rest  upon  our  king !  " 
Then  turning  from  that  royal  audience, 
With    one    accord    they    dashed    their    idols 

down, 
And  worshiped  Him  who  is  invisible. 


12  ARBUTUS. 


ARBUTUS. 

|HOU  brave,  bright,  winsome  thing! 

Can  no  rough  weather  daunt  thee  ? 
Fit  prophet  of  the  spring, 
Rosy  with  hope  despite  cold  covering, 
Was  it  by  accident  that  God  did  plant  thee 
Just  where  his   chosen  people,  numb  with 

woe, 
Yet  strong  in  faith,  should  find  thee, 

Keeping    up    cheery    heart    beneath    the 

snow, 
Summer  before,  and  winter  all  behind  thee? 


MEADOW-TALK.  13 


MEADOW-TALK. 

BUMBLE-BEE,  yellow  as  gold, 

Sat  perched  on  a  red-clover  top, 
When  a  grasshopper,  wiry  and  old, 
Came  along  with  a  skip  and  a  hop. 
"  Good-morrow  !  "  cried  he,  "  Mr.  Bumble-bee. 
You  seem  to  have  come  to  a  stop." 

"  We  people  that  work/' 

Said  the  bee,  with  a  jerk, 
"  Find  a  benefit  sometimes  in  stopping. 
Only  insects  like  you, 
Who  have  nothing  to  do, 
Can  keep  up  a  perpetual  hopping !  " 

The  grasshopper  paused  on  his  way, 
And  thoughtfully  hunched  up  his  knees. 

"  Why  trouble  this  sunshiny  day," 
Quoth  he,  "  with  reflections  like  these  ? 

I  follow  the  trade  for  which  I  was  made. 
We  're  not  all  of  us  bumble-bees. 


14  MEADOW-TALK. 

"  There  's  a  time  to  be  sad 

And  a  time  to  be  glad, 
A  time  both  for  working  and  stopping ; 

For  men  to  make  money, 

For  you  to  make  honey, 
And  for  me  to  do  nothing  but  hopping !  " 


FUGUE.  15 


FUGUE. 

fingers  on   life's  hollowed   organ- 
keys 

We  play,  with   differing  theme,  the 
tune  of  time  ; 

While,  through  our  discords  and   our  harmo- 
nies, 

Along  the  echoing  octaves  to  the  skies, 
Unheld,   unhindered,   God's   sure   purports 
climb. 

Awhile,  with  heaven-blinded  eyes,  we  stand 

In  the  first  bright,  unconscious  solitude 
That  peoples  all  the  world  from  fairy-land, 
And  hold  instinctively,  with  lingering  hand, 
The  brief,  glad  cadences  of  babyhood. 

Our  grasp    grows  wonted  to    the    sounding 

maze; 
A  stronger  tone  takes  up  the  melody; 


16  FUGUE. 

The  childish  treble  of  our  earlier  days 
Becomes  a  dream-like  memory,  that  plays 
Round  manhood's  full,  sonorous  symphony. 

And  whence  these   airy  notes  that  float  and 

grow  — 

Now  clearly  sweet,   now  vague  and   shad- 
owy— 

Athwart  a  sombre  warp,  in  golden  glow, 
Flashing  their  magic  shuttles  to  and  fro 
To  weave  love's  Intermediate  Harmony  ? 

Hark !   veiled    in   rolling    chords,   the  theme 

again, 
Questioning,     eager  -  tongued,     of     coming 

years ; 

While  from  afar  a  stealing  minor  strain, 
All  palpitating  and  alive  with  pain, 

Breathes  back   the   answer   in  a  sound   of 
tears. 

A  slower  movement  now,  —  a  softer  key; 
From  trembling  hands  of   age  the   old  re- 
frain 
Wavers  to  silence.     Shall  there  no  more  be 


FUGUE.  17 

Of   all   that  has  been  ?     Lo !    across  death's 

sea 

Heaven   echoes  back    the  glad  child-song 
again. 


1 8  GREETING. 


GREETING. 

BECAUSE    no    more    in    any    earthly 

place, 

Whither  I  go  to  sorrow  or  rejoice, 
Shall  I  behold,  dear  friend,  your  radiant  face 
Or  hear  the  merry  music  of  your  voice ; 

Because  I  might  not  know  the  day,  the  hour, 
That  brought  God's  homeward  bidding  to 

your  ear, 
Nor    lay    so    much    as    one    sweet    summer 

flower, 

With    reverent    hand,    upon    your    maiden 
bier, 

I  send  you  —  through  the  mystery  —  to-day, 
And   sorrowing  lay,   the   still,   closed  past 

above, 
Heart's  greeting    that    shall    surely   find    its 

way, 
And  fadeless  blooms  of  memory  and  love. 


A   BUTTERCUP. 


A   BUTTERCUP. 

LITTLE  yellow  buttercup 

Stood  laughing  at  the  sun, 
The  grass  all  green  around  it, 
The  summer  just  begun  ; 
Its  saucy  little  head  abrim 
With  happiness  and  fun. 

Near  by,  grown  old  and  gone  to  seed, 

A  dandelion  grew ; 
To  right  and  left  with  every  breeze 

His  snowy  tresses  flew. 
He  shook  his  hoary  head,  and  said, 

"  I  Ve  some  advice  for  you. 

"  Don't  think,  because  you  're  yellow  now, 

That  golden  days  will  last. 
I  was  as  gay  as  you  are  once, 

But  now  my  youth  is  past ; 
This  day  will  be  my  last  to  bloom, 

The  hours  are  going  fast. 


20  A  BUTTERCUP. 

"  Perhaps  your  fun  may  last  a  week, 

But  then  you  '11  have  to  die." 
The  dandelion  ceased  to  speak; 

A  breeze  that  capered  by 
Snatched  all  the  white  hairs  from  his  head, 

And  wafted  them  on  high. 

His  yellow  neighbor  first  looked  sad  ; 

Then,  cheering  up,  he  said, 
"  If  one  's  to  live  in  fear  of  death, 

One  might  as  well  be  dead." 
The  little  buttercup  laughed  out, 

And  waved  his  golden  head. 


MYSTERY.  21 


MYSTERY. 

j^HAT  is  this,  in  a  golden  case, 
Holding  its  little  hands  up  to  its  face ; 
Going    tick-tick,    tick-tick,    tick-tick- 
tick, 

Never  too  slow,  and  never  too  quick  ? 
Hold  it  up  to  the  baby's  ear  ! 
Tick-tick-tick,  —  does  the  baby  hear  ? 

Life  lies  for  him  in  a  golden  case,  — 

The  world  is  a  strange  and  beautiful  place. 

On  the  border-land  of  eternity 

He  sweetly  wonders  what  time  may  be ; 

For,  shut  in  a  watch's  narrow  rim, 

It  is  only  a  tick-tick-tick  to  him! 


22  TO  A  PICTURE   OF  POLLY. 


TO   A    PICTURE   OF    POLLY   IN    HER 
GRANDMOTHER'S  DRESS. 

JITTLE  maid  in  quaint  array, 

Underneath  the  greenwood  spray, 
T5S*  With  the   summer   sunshine  flecking 

all  the  meadow  at  your  feet, 
Is  it  but  the  old-time  guise 
That  has  made  your  happy  eyes 
Wear   that    far-away    and    dreamy    look,    so 
tremulously  sweet? 

'Tis  as  if,  without  a  word, 
Olden  memories  were  stirred 
Of  the  time  when  love  and  living,  with  the 

gown  itself,  were  new. 
Is  it  but  your  thought  of  her, 
Questioning  the  days  that  were, 
Or  does   she  who   used  to  wear  it  thrill  to 
life  again  in  you  ? 


TO  A  PICTURE   OF  POLLY.  2$ 

We  may  only  faintly  guess 
At  the  story  of  that  dress, 
How  she   loved    it  when   she  wore    it,   and 

whose  eyes  she  sought  to  please. 
Leal  we  know  she  was,  and  true, 
Since  she  handed  down  to  you 
Loving  heart   and  faithful   purpose  with  the 
antique  draperies  ! 

Could  she  see  you  standing  there, 
In  the  dress  she  used  to  wear, 
Well  I  know  her  thought  and  ours  might  in 

selfsame  words  be  said : 
"Through  the  sunshine  or  the  shade, 
Walk  on  bravely,  little  maid ; 
Flowers  of  hope  along  your  pathway,  palms 
of  peace  above  your  head ! " 


24  TWO  MOTHERS. 


TWO  MOTHERS. 

either  side  a  window 
That  opened  to  the  west, 
They  guarded  each  her  treasure, 
A  cradle  and  a  nest. 

And  always  when  at  evening 

Sank  down  the  summer  sun, 
Four  little  heads  were  in  the  nest, 

And  in  the  cradle  one. 

Without,  the  feathered  mother 
Kept  faithful  watch  and  ward ; 

Within,  the  human  mother  watched ; 
Above  them  watched  the  Lord. 

And  sitting  there  in  silence 

Unbroken  by  a  word, 
There  grew  to  be  a  bond  between 

The  woman  and  the  bird. 


TWO  MOTHERS.  2$ 

So  that  when  each  had  cradled 

Her  offspring  for  the  night, 
She  looked  to  see  that  all  within 

The  other  home  was  right. 

There  came  a  time  of  storm  without, 

A  time  of  grief  within ; 
The  chair  stood  vacant,  bare  the  twig 

Where  once  a  bird  had  been. 

And  when  once  more  the  window 

Stood  open  to  the  west, 
A  saddened  human  face  looked  out 

Upon  a  shattered  nest. 

Ah,  strange  the  link  that  bound  them 

Even  in  grief  so   great ! 
"  Poor  little   friend  !  "  the  woman  cried, 
"  Are  both  homes  desolate  ?  " 

While,  perched  unseen  above  her, 

Upon  a  woodbine  spray, 
The  small  brown  bird  sat  mourning 

Whom  she  thought  far  away. 


26  TWO  MOTHERS. 

And  seeing  but  the  empty  crib, 

The  mother  all  alone, 
She  inly  chirped,  "  Poor  thing,  poor  thing, 

Her  little  one  has  flown  !  " 

The  sun  sank  down  ;   forsaken 

Hung  either  little  bed  : 
The  human  guardian  was  gone, 

The  sentry  bird  had  fled. 

Yet  still  the  Lord  kept  watch  above, 

To  give  his  children  rest ; 
His  love  was  o'er  the  empty  crib, 

And  o'er  the  empty  nest. 


ATTAR   OF  ROSE.  27 


ATTAR  OF    ROSE. 

roses    are  so    sweet  as    those   that 

grow 

In  the  fair  Morning-Land, 
Steeped  in  perennial  summer's  golden  glow, 
By  airs  ethereal  fanned. 

Men  hold  them   precious.     Not    a  bud   may 
fade, 

Nor  one  pure  petal  fall ; 
In  the  full  flush  of  beauty  undecayed 

They  gently  glean  them  all. 

And  thus  the  rose  that  blossomed  long  ago, 

In  warm  lands  far  away, 
Breathes  its  sweet  parable,  amid  the  snow, 

For  wistful  hearts  to-day. 

Life's  rarest  blooms  God  seals  perpetual 

Ere  blight  their  beauty  sears. 
The   joys   we   counted  lost   are   those  which 
shall 

Make  glad  the  eternal  years. 


28  IDLESSE. 


IDLESSE. 

LIE  on  my  back  in  a  sea  of  grass, 
And  the  white-winged  clouds  sail 

over ; 

The  green  blades  bend  as  the  breezes   pass, 
And,  wave-like,  rustle  their  emerald  mass, 
Foam-capped  with  the  sweet  white   clover. 

And  as  mariners  know  when  land  is  nigh 

By  the  gulls  that  come  trooping  over, 
So  I  am  reminded  of  home  close  by 
By  the  snowy  pigeons  that  swoop  and  fly, 
Or  restfully  poise  and  hover. 

Somewhere  above,  in  the  world  I  have  left, 

Wait  trial  and  care  unbidden, 
To  wrap  me  round  when  again  I  rise, 
Like  a  diver  bearing  his  hard-won  prize 

From  depths  where  the  pearls  lie  hidden. 


IDLESSE.  29 

Yet,    awhile,    lying    drowned    in    the   Lethe 

sweet 

Of  summer-born  dreams  and  wishes, 
While   the  gnarled   trees   softly  drop   at  my 

feet 

Their  roseate  shells,  and,  with  impulse   fleet 
The  swallows  slide  past  like   fishes,  — 

There  steals  into  being  a  child-like  zest ; 

The  magic  of  youth  still  lingers ; 
And  by  and  by,  from  my  cool,   green  nest, 
I  shall  rise  with  the  fair  white  pearl  of  rest 

Clasped  close  in  my  weary  fingers. 


30  IM  FRUHLING. 


IM  FRUHLING. 

g£    LITTLE   child,  knee-deep  in   mea- 
dow grasses, 

Her  tiny  apron  heaped  with  blooms 
of  spring; 

Lightly  above  her  head  the  soft  wind  passes, 
Sweetly  along  her  way  the  blue-birds  sing. 

Quick  fly  the  eager  glances  hither,  thither, 
The  little  grasping  fingers  know  no  bound ; 

Already  some  fair  buds  begin  to  wither, 
Some  softly  drop,  unnoticed,  to  the  ground. 

No  matter  now!  the  world   is  full   of   sweet- 
ness, 

Stretches  the  field  before  her  wide  and  gay ; 
Blithe    little    heart,  that    knows   no    incom- 
pleteness, 
No  touch  of  gloom  in  all  the   sunny  day! 


IM  FRUHLING.  31 

Ah !   gladly   take  what   spring-time   brings  of 

gladness, 
Each  tender-blossomed  joy   of    childhood's 

hour  ! 
For    days  will    come  when,  treading   slow  in 

sadness, 

Thou  may'st  search  vainly  for  one  wayside 
flower. 


32  WOOD-MAGIC. 


WOOD-MAGIC. 

DEE,  it  is  June !  The  sun  beats  hot, 
The  cattle  drowse  in  the  upland  lot, 
And  the  rose   hangs  heavy  upon 
her  stem, 

Bereft  of  her  dewdrop  diadem ; 
The  clover  patches  with  wings  are  gay, 
Sweet  voices  call  from  the  woodland  way. 
Come,  little  one,  come  ;  your  hand,  your  hand  ! 
Let  us  go  for  a  stroll  through  Fairyland. 

Down  with  these  rough-hewn  pasture-bars  ! 
See  how  the  green  is  flecked  with  stars, 
Scattered  by  free  hand  near  and  far, 
The  fine,  small  bloom  of  Houstonia. 
From  the  far-off  hills  blow  breezes  sweet, 
The  many-voiced  brooklet  sings  at   our  feet, 
While,  with  waving  branches,  the   hemlocks 

stand 
To  beckon  us  on  into  Fairyland. 


WOOD-MAGIC.  33 

Let  me  bend  aside  this  barrier-bough  ! 

We  are  treading  enchanted  country  now. 

Around  us  numberless  odors  breathe ; 

Mysterious  spells  about  us  wreathe  ; 

There  is  magical  music  in  the  air, 

And  magical  influence  everywhere. 

The     things   we     see,    are    they   what    they 

seem, 
Or  do  we  walk  in  a  waking  dream? 

That  fiery  speck  amid  the  trees, 

Swaying  and  dancing  in  the  breeze, 

Is  it  a  columbine,  mayhap, 

Or  is  it  the  nodding  scarlet  cap 

Of  some  drowsy  fairy  sentinel, 

Asleep  at  his  small  post?     Who  can  tell? 

Step  cautiously  as  you  pass  the  line, 

Lest  he  wake,  and  demand  the  countersign ! 

Hark  to  the  ceaseless  under-whirr 
Of  things  that  rustle,  and  creep,  and  stir  ! 
Swift  through  the  green  leaves  overhead 
Flash  two  quick  wings  and  a  gleam  of  red, 
While  a  gush  of  melody,  clear  and  bright, 
Floats  from  cool  coverts  out  of  sight. 


34  WOOD-MAGIC. 

Is  it  only  a  bird  of  the  summer  air, 
Or  is  there  a  prince,  enchanted,  there  ? 

Hush,    look!   from    the   dark   mould,    at   our 

feet, 

Born  of  the  damp  and  the  sunless  heat, 
Rises  a  presence,  still  and  white, 
Shimmering  with  an  unearthly  light. 
You  can  feel  the  silence  in  which  it  grew,  — 
Child  of  the  darkness  and  the  dew. 
Is  it  a  flower,  or  is  it  most 
Like  the   shrouded  form   of  some  woodland 

ghost  ? 

Here  the  trees  in  a  circle  stand; 

Tis  surely  the  heart  of  Fairyland! 

And  this  clear  space,  where  the  grass  grows 

green, 

Is  the  chosen  haunt  of  the  fairy  queen. 
These  pitcher-plants  are  her  serving-men, 
That  one  tall  flag  is  high-chamberlain  ; 
When   the    full    moon    rises    her    court    will 

meet. 
Beware!  there  is  danger  for  mortal  feet. 


WOOD-MAGIC.  35 

But  whence  this  sound,  as  we  wind  along, 
Like  a  laughing  sigh  or  a  sobbing  song  ? 
Is  it  some  gay  sprite  with  a  secret  pain, 
Or  only  our  friend,  the  brook,  again  ? 
Let  us  follow  on  where  it  twists  and  turns  — 
Half  hidden  beneath  its  fringe  of  ferns  — 
With  ceaseless  babblement,  as  it  flows, 
Of  every  secret  the  woodland  knows. 

See  how  the  damp  rocks,  hung  with  green, 
Lean  to  each  other ;  while,  down  between, 
Rushes  and  leaps  the  madcap  stream. 
Where   the  water  breaks,  do  you   catch   the 

gleam 

Of  a  .shimmering,  fleecy  robe  —  or,  stay  ! 
Is  it  only  the  light  on  the  dancing  spray? 
How  sparkling  the  water  is,  and  cool ! 
There  be  jewels  here,  in  this  hidden  pool. 

Here  is  a  white  pearl  for  you,  see  ! 
And  here  is  an  emerald  for  me. 
Let  us  fill  our  hands  with  the  lovely  things. 
Do  fairy  riches,  like  ours,  have  wings  ? 
Will  they  fade  and  crumble,  as  did  of  yore 
That    wreath    which     the     Moorish    maiden 
wore  ? 


36  WOOD-MAGIC. 

What  was  that  ?     Did  an  elfin  trumpet  blow  ? 
"A  locust,"  say  you?     It  may  be  so. 

But  look !  the  sunshine  is  stealing  in ; 
The  pines  and  hemlocks  are  wearing  thin  ; 
I  have  seen  that  withered  oak  before, 
These  gems  are  pebbles,  and  nothing  more. 
The  spell  is  broken,  the  dream  is  flown, 
We  walk  no  more  through  a  realm  unknown. 
Ah,     faithless     brook,    with     your     murmurs 

bland 
You  have  lured  us  away  from  Fairyland  ! 


FOURSCORE. 


37 


FOURSCORE. 

TO  C.  R.  D.,  1878. 

can   I   say  of  one  whose  feet 
have  pressed 
So  far  beyond  me  on   life's  trodden 

way 
That    shall   not  seem    presumptuous   at    the 

best? 

What  is  there  left  for  any  one  to  say 
That  the  long  epic  of  his  eighty  years 
Has  not  said  first  and  better?     For  his  ears 
The  past  hath  songs  no  other  understands  ; 
And  pleasant  memories  of  many  lands 
Make    noonday    brightness    in    his    evening 

time. 
Varied    the    childhood,    full    the    youth,     he 

knew; 

One  of  the  here  and  there  remaining  few 
Who,  in  their  early  manhood's  golden  prime, 
Saw,  beyond  Belgian  hills,  the  sun  go  down 


38  FOURSCORE. 

On  a  red  field  with  brave  dead  covered  o'er,  — 
That  field  which  cost  a  conqueror  his  crown, 
And  crowned   a  great  man   conqueror   once 
more. 

Life  is  a  battle  we  must  all  win  through 
In  one  wise  or  another,  and  the  man 
Whose    days  approach  so    near    a   century's 

span 

Fights  many  a  fiercer  field  than  Waterloo. 
Then  well  for  each  who,  at  the  close  of  day, 
Weary  and  wounded,  ceasing  from  the  fray, 
Haply  finds  some  to  say,  as  we  of  him, 
"  Though    he   come   forth  white-haired,   with 

eyesight  dim, 
Who  entered  in   the   bloom   and   strength  of 

life, 

Victory  is  his,  in  that,  throughout  the  strife, 
He  bore  him  bravely,  and  kept  undefined 
The  simple,  trusting  spirit  of  a  child." 


IN  RESPONSE    TO  A   SERENADE.       39 


IN   RESPONSE  TO   A   SERENADE. 

TO  THE  CLASS  OF  »77,  BELOIT  COLLEGE. 

JAST  night,  when  moonlight  filled  the 

air, 

Up  through  its  silver  shine 
Came,  softly  sweet,  from  friendly  lips, 
The  words  of  "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 

Ah,  friends,  the  sweetest  songs  of  earth 

Are  born  of  bitter  tears  ! 
lands  separate,  to  clasp  no  more 
Through  all  life's  changing  years. 

Yet  round  these  days  of  early  youth 

Our  brightest  memories  twine, 
And  hearts  are  bound  by  loving  links 

To  days  of  Auld  Lang  Syne. 

This  world  is  but  a  school  for  heaven, 
We  all  are  classmates  here  ; 


40       IN  RESPONSE    TO  A  SERENADE. 

What  heights  our  lives  may  rise  to,  there, 
"  It  doth  not  yet  appear." 

But,  on  that  great  Commencement  Day, 
God  grant  that  we  may  stand 

A  class  unbroken  and  unstained, 
Beside  his  own  right  hand ; 

And  there,  where  partings  never  come, 

Within  love's  light  divine, 
Look  back  with  tender  retrospect, 

And  sing  of  Auld  Lang  Syne  ! 


LIFTED    UP.  41 


LIFTED   UP. 


STOOD    beside    my    window    one 

stormy  winter  day, 
And  watched  the  light  white  snow- 
flakes  flutter  past ; 
And   I    saw,  though    each  one  wandered   its 

silent,  separate  way, 
They  all   sank  down  upon  the   ground   at 

last. 

"  So    men    must    lie    down   too,"    I    said, 
"  when  life  is  past !  " 

From   out    the   selfsame   window,   when   soft 

spring  days  were  come, 
I    watched    the    fair    white    clouds     that 

sailed  the  blue. 
Could  those  bright,  pearly  wonders,  far  up  in 

heaven's  high  dome, 
Be    the     old    wintry    snow-banks     that     I 

knew  ? 
"  So    men    shall    one    day   rise    again,"    I 

whispered,  "  too  !  " 


42  MIDWINTER. 


MIDWINTER. 

COLD  north  wind  sweeps  over  the 

hill, 

And    the     sharp    white    snow-dust 
whirls  in  the  air; 
But    deep    in    the    heart   of  the   woods    'tis 

still,  — 
The  silence  of  slumber  is  reigning  there. 

Under  the  brown  earth,  and  under  the  snow, 
The  little  wild  things  are  lying,  asleep  ; 

Giving  no  heed  to  the  winds  that  blow, 
Caring  no  whit  though  the  drifts  be  deep. 

In  her  round,  dark  burrow  under  the  rocks, 
Where  no  cold  breath  can  come  creeping 
through, 

Cozy  and  warm  lies  the  mother-fox, 
And  her  three  little  foxes  are  cozy  too. 


MIDWINTER.  43 

Down  in  the  trunks  of  the  old  oak-trees 
Are    huddled    the    squirrels,    brindle    and 

gray; 

The  field-mouse  and  shrew,  with  their  fami- 
lies, 
Under  the  tussocks  are  tucked  away; 

And     the    musk-rats    dwell    by    the    frozen 

stream. 

There  is  store  of  food  in  each  little  home ; 
Nothing  to  do  but  drowsily  dream, 
Through    the    long,    dark    time,    till    the 
spring  shall  come. 

Bitterly  cold  is  the  winter  night, 
And   the   fierce   north  wind   sweeps    over 

the  hill ; 
But    high    in    the    heavens   the    stars    shine 

bright, 

And  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  woods  'tis 
still. 


44  CAPRICE. 


CAPRICE. 

SOUND  of  dancing  footfalls  strikes 

my  ear; 

'Mid    sombre     stems     of     steadfast 
woods  I  catch 

The  glimmer  of  a  robe  all  changeable 
With  palest  green  that  ever  fades  to  gray, 
And  gray  that  brightens  into  palest  green. 
Around  its  hem  a  border,  richly  wrought 
In  fresh  young  leaves  and  blades  of   spring- 
ing grass, 

With  here  and  there  a  fair  bud  peeping  out 
Of  violet,  or  frail  anemone, 
Or  furry4iooded,  shy  hepatica. 
Above  the  robe,  a  wondrous,  varying  face, 
Whose  sweet  lips  smile  even  while   the  radi- 
ant eyes 

Shine  tender  through  a  mist  of  unshed  tears. 
Over  the  shoulders,  in  their  supple  grace, 
Warm-waving   hair  half   hides   its   deepening 

gold 
Beneath  a  veiPs  dull-tinted,  envious  fold, 


CAPRICE.  45 

Whence  the  sly  air,  from  stealing  through  it, 

gets 
A  fragrance  like  the  breath  of  violets. 

"  I    know    you,    April,    with    your     rainbow 

mien  ! 
You  fooled   me  last  year;    can   I   trust   you 

this  ?  " 

She  puts  her  cool,  responsive  hand  in  mine, 
And    breathes    bright    promises   for   days   to 

come. 
The    sunshine    falls    with    kindlier,    warmer 

glow, 

Bringing  a  hint  of  summer  time  ;    I  think  — 
Fond    fool  !  —  "  She   will  not   play  me   false 

again." 
Then,  all    at    once,  the  quick   eyes   fill  with 

tears, 
A    moist   wind    strikes    me    with    a    sudden 

chill  ; 
The    clear   green    of    her   garment   fades    to 


Along  the  sward  the  sunlight  shimmers  pale  ; 
She  softly  sighs  and  turns  her  head  away, 

And  round  her  draws  the   dull   mist   of    her 
veil. 


46  HOW? 


HOW? 

W  do  the  lilies  grow, 

Since  they  neither  spin  nor  toil? 
They  send  their  seeking  rootlets  down 
Through  the  life-supplying  soil. 

How  do  the  lilies  grow, 

Since  they  neither  toil  nor  spin  ? 
They  reach  up  with  their  asking  leaves, 

And  drink  the  sunlight  in. 

How  do  the  lilies  grow  ? 

As  the  Lord  supplieth  them ; 
Till  their  bloom  outshines,  in   living  glow, 

The  kingliest  diadem ! 

How  shall  God's  children  grow, 

That  they  may  be  thus  arrayed? 
'  Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field," 
Do  as  the  Master  bade. 


HOW? 

Delve  for  his  hidden  strength, 
Reach  toward  his  living  light; 

So  shall  the  life  within   unfold, 
So  shall  its  bloom  be  bright. 


47 


48  IN  THE  DARK. 


IN  THE  DARK. 

MIDNIGHT  brooded  weird  and  lone  ; 
Nothing  broke  the  wintry  gloom, 
Save  the  drowsy  monotone 
Of  the  clock,  as,  one   by  one, 
From  its  steady  hands  the  minutes   fell  into 
my  silent  room. 

Close  beside  the  larger  bed 

Stood  the  cradle  in  its  place: 
'Mid  the  blankets,  softly  spread, 
Lay  the  baby's  golden  head, 
And   his   light  breath,  coming,  going,  gently 
fanned  against  my  face. 

Something  in  the  darkness  stirred, 
Warmly  nestling  at  my  side 

Like  a  little  sleepy  bird. 

"  Mamma  !  "  —  very  low  the  word  ; 
Hush  and  darkness  made   the   narrow  space 
between  us  seem  so  wide. 


IN  THE  DARK.  49 

Then  I  murmured,  as  he  lay, 

"  Mamma 's  close  beside  you,  dear. 

Soon  the  night  will  go  away, 

By  and  by  it  will  be  day, 
In     the     morning,  when    my    baby  wakens, 
Mamma  will  be  here." 

Wandering  fingers  toward  me  crept ; 
"  Mamma,  let  me  hold  your  hand." 
Clasping  it,  he  soothed  and  slept; 
Clasping  his,  I  could  have  wept, 
Humbled  by  that  perfect  trust  which  needed 
not  to  understand. 

Years  have  passed  me  by  since  then  ; 

Long  the  little  bed  has  stood 
Empty,  silent;  yet,  again, 
Thrilling  deeper  than   my  pain, 
Comes    the     tender    voice    to    banish    every 

bitter,  doubting   mood. 

Through  the  voiceless  hush  of  death, 

Through  life's  midnight,  dark  and  dim, 
Turning  unto  Christ,  who  saith 


50  IN  THE  DARK. 

To  each  asking  soul,  "Have  faith," 
Heavenward    I   reach    my    longing,    groping 
human  hands  to  Him. 

Does  He  take  them  ?   Ay,  He  does ! 

All  the  chasm,  deep  and  wide, 
Spanning  by  his  love  that  flows 
Freely  for  all  human  woes. 
I  shall  wake  in  heaven's  bright  morning  with 

my  baby  by  my  side. 


BON  VIVANT.  51 


BON  VIVANT. 

|HOU  jovial  Bumble-bee, 

Summer  is  sweet  to  thee 
7To    its    last    hour    from    when    thou 
dost  begin  it! 

Thou  seem'st  not  idle  for  a  single  minute; 
Never  a  fair  flower  blows   but   quickly  thou 

art  in  it. 

From  dandelion  to  rose, 
Naught  is  too  mean  that  grows, 
Nor  too  exalted,  so  there  's  honey  in  it, 
And  thou  canst  win  it ! 

The  doublet  on  thy  back, 
Velvety  soft  and  black, 
Bespeaks  thee  somewhat  of  a  dandy  fellow, 
So  daintily  'tis  striped   and   laced  with   yel- 
low. 

O'er  gardens  bloom-replete,  o'er  meads  where 
bull-frogs  bellow, 


52  BON  VIVANT. 

Hover  thy  nimble  feet, 
Sandaled  with  many  a  sweet. 
Thy  genial  chant   sounds   baritone   and  mel- 
low, — 
June's  violoncello  ! 

Day  after  sunny  day 
Thou  makest  work  thy  play, 
And  turnest  play  to  work  with   each   necta- 

rious  crumb. 

Gloom  into  thy  brisk  life  dares  never  come ; 
Thou  keep'st  such  easy  heart,  so  merry  is  thy 

hum. 

Care  and  thou  live  apart. 
Would  I  might  learn  thine  art 
Or  thou  wouldst  halve  thy  cheer   and  give 

me  some, 
Dull  that  I  am,  and  dumb ! 


THE  STARS  AND    THE  BELL.  53 


THE  STARS  AND  THE  BELL. 

„.. 

**          was    dark    and    cold   at    the   mid- 
night hour, 

For  Christmas  Day   was    about  to 
begin  ; 

The  old  church-bell  hung  high  in  the  tower, 
And  the  stars  came  peeping  in. 

The  old  church-bell  hung  high  in  the  tower, 
And  the  shining  stars,  above  in  the  sky, 

Laughed    to    themselves    as    he   clanged    the 

hour, 
And  winked  with  each  golden  eye. 

"  Pray,  what  do  you  know  about  time  ? " 
they  cried. 

"  We  were  old  when  your  earth  was  young? 
And  you  could  not  number  us  if  you  tried !  " 

But  the  old  bell  held  his  tongue. 


54  THE  STARS  AND    THE  BELL. 

Then  the  sexton  toiled  up  the  tower-stair, 
And  his  head  was  bowed  and  gray, 

But  he  cheerily  called,  "  Old  bell,  up  there, 
Ring  out !  it  is  Christmas  Day ! " 

He  seized  the  rope  in  each  wrinkled  hand, 
And  pulled  with  a  youthful  might; 

And  the  glad  sound  pealed  o'er  the  sleeping 

land, 
And  soared  to  the  stars  so  bright. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  laughed  the  scornful  stars  again. 

"  What  know  you  of  Christmas-tide  ? 
We  shone  on  that  far-off  Eastern  plain 

Where  a  star  was  the  wise  men's  guide. 

"We  saw  the  Child  in  his  manger-bed, 
And  the  gifts  that  the  Magi  gave  ; 

And  we  shall  shine  when  your  voice  is  fled, 
We  shall  shine  on  the  sexton's  grave!" 

"  Glory  to  God !  "  pealed  the  bell,  "  for  aye ! 

Peace,  peace  to  all  human  strife  ! 
The  Saviour  comes  with  a  gift  to-day, 

And  the  gift  is  eternal  life. 


THE  STARS  AND    THE  BELL.  55 

"  O  shining  stars !  unto  you  't  was  given 

To  herald  the  Saviour's  birth ; 
And    the    praise    and    the    glory  belong    to 
heaven, 

But  the  joy  belongs  to  earth." 


56  SAFE-FOLDED. 


SAFE-FOLDED. 

,  it  is  hard  when  o'er  the  face 

We  scarce  can  see  for  weeping, 
The  little,  loving  baby  face, 
That  last,  still  shade  comes  creeping ; 
Full  hard  to  close  the  tender  eyes, 
And  fold  the  hands  for  sleeping. 

Yet  when  the  world  our  own  would  claim, 
It  doth  not  greatly  grieve  us; 

We  calmly  see,  as  days  go  by, 
Our  little  children  leave  us, 

And,  smiling,  heed  not  how  the  swift, 
Soft-footed  years  bereave  us. 

O  mother-hearts  !  I  count  you  rich 
Beyond  mere  earth-possessing, 

Whose  little  babies  never  grow 
Away  from  your  caressing, — 

Safe-folded  in  His  tender  arms 
Who  gives  again,  with  blessing. 


ESTRANGED. 


57 


ESTRANGED. 


|HE    sunset    clouds     look    strangely 

gray  to-night, 

The  evening  air  blows  keen, 
And  when  I  turn  to  see  your  window-light, 
That  should  have  made  my  homeward  path 
so  bright, 

Dark  shadows  fall  between. 


A   stealthy   wind    comes   creeping   from    the 
meres, 

And  all  the  branches  moan. 
No  hand  in  mine,  as  in  the  by-gone  years. 
With  weary  heart-ache  and  with  bitter  tears 
I  tread  my  way  alone ! 


58  AN  AUTOGRAPH. 


AN  AUTOGRAPH. 

CHAT'S    in    a    name?"    old    Shake- 
speare says.     "  A  rose 
By   any  other   name  would    smell 
as  sweet." 
And    yet,  perhaps  it  may  be,  friend,  —  who 

knows  ? 

That    lacking    names    our    life   were    less 
complete. 

For    though    when    smiling,    sunny-tempered 

June 

Is  rilling  all  the  air  with  scent  and  sound 
Of  countless  flowers,    and   sweet  bird-choirs 

in  tune, 

And   Nature  like  some  happy  queen  sits 
crowned, 


AN  AUTOGRAPH.  59 

We   reck   but    little   which  bright  bloom   or 

bird 
Most    cheers   us,    so    the   general    joy  be 

ours. 
Yet  when   without  the   casement   naught    is 

heard 

Save  wintry  storms,  and   vanished  are  the 
flowers, 

Let     one     but     mention     "  Summer,"     and 

straightway 

Our  warm  imagination  melts  the  snow, 
And     earth    is    filled    with    fragrance.      So, 

some  day, 

When    our    life-paths    have    parted    here 
below, 

Perchance  this  unpretending  name  of  mine — 
Though  nothing  in  itself  —  may  yet    bring 

back 

Years  long  since  fled,  and  memories  divine 
Like    song     and    sunshine    follow    in    its 
track. 


6O  EPHEMERA. 


EPHEMERA. 

ED  e'er  you  spy 

The  blithe  May-fly 
Dancing,  at  dusk,  in  ecstasy? 
If  so, 
You  know 
How  fast  its  little  life  goes  by. 

Do  you  suppose 
A  May-fly  knows 

Whence  he  has  come,  or  where  he  goes  ? 
Not  he ! 
But  we 
May  mark  his  day  from  dawn  to  close. 

And  do  you  know 
That,  even  so, 

God's  angels  watch  us,  here  below, 
Alway  ? 
And  they 
Know  whence  we  come,  and  where  we  go. 


RAINBOW-GOLD. 


RAINBOW-GOLD. 

HERE  were  three  who  went  to  seek, 

Only  one  who   found. 
One  took  his  shovel  and  pick, 
And  dug  the  ground. 

When  he  found  naught  for  his  pains, 

"  I  might  have  known," 
Quoth  he,  "  men  toil  for  their  gains 

From  Adam,  down  !  " 

Said  the  next,  "The  tale's  but  a  type 

Of  something  better; 
Till  the  time  and  the  man   are  ripe 

A  mere  dead   letter. 

The  glorious  bow  is  fame, 

From  the  mind's  gold  grown." 
He  laid  down  life  for  a  name, 

And  died  unknown, 


62  RAINBOW-GOLD. 

But  the  third  looked  up,  through  tears, 

Unto  God.     Behold! 
His  faithfulness  spanned  the   years, 

Life  yielded  gold. 


HOPE. 


HOPE. 

5IGHT  well  I  know  that  life  is  more 

than  joy, 
For    joy  may  die ;  and  yet,  behold, 

we  live  ! 

Nor  duty's  sterling  stuff  nor  grief's  alloy 
Makes  up  its  sum ;  even  although  we  give 
Our  days  to  labor  and  our  nights  to  tears. 
Whence  cometh,  then,  that  force    superlative 
Which    turns    the   wondrous    wheel    through 

weary  years? 
Faith    is    the    spirit's    breath ;     its    beating 

brain 

Is  love,  that  holds,   in    ever-widening  scope, 
All  that  God  gives  to  its  eternal  gain ; 
But    oh,   the   heart,   the  throbbing    heart,    is 

hope  ! 

tiis  stayeth  never  its  renewing  power ; 
To  every  nerve  it  sendeth  swift  supply 
Instant  by  instant,  through  life's  sunny  hour 


64  HOPE. 

As  through  its  deepest  midnight,  equally. 
We   cry  sometimes     in    anguish,    "  Hope    is 

dead  ! " 

When  but  for  her  we  had  no  voice  to  cry. 
Oh,  hard  to  kill  is  she  !  it  is  her  red 
Returning  tide  that  points  our  agony, 
As  when    revives    some    poor  wretch,  nearly 

drowned, 

To  find  himself  in  tingling  tortures  bound. 
Our     joys    may    leave    us,     grief    itself     be 

gone, 
Faith   may  lie   cold,    and   lovq   have   naught 

to  give, 

Yet  lingering  life  is  there  if  hope  beat  on  ; 
But   when  we    cease  to  *hope,  we  cease   to 

live. 


HOW  SPRING   CAME.  65 


HOW  SPRING  CAME. 

•T&ACT  SOUTH-WIND    blew  and  set   the 

sriow  a-melting, 

And  bade  the  little  brooks  begin  to 
run  ; 
From  changeful   skies  soft  April  rains  came 

pelting, 

And  wore  away  the  white  drifts,  every  one, 
And  then  out  shone  the  golden  April  sun. 

• 

The  little  brooks  ran  fast,  with  liquid  laugh- 
ter, 
Through   field   and   forest    spreading    the 

glad  word. 

Snowdrops  woke  first;  hepatica  came  after; 
It  was  not  long  before  the  violets  heard; 
And  then  out  sang  a  thankful  little  bird. 

So  sweet,  it  set  the  woodland's  heart  a-throb- 

bing, 
And  all  the  meadows  smiled  to  blossoming ; 


66  HOW  SPRING   CAME. 

The  brooks'  laugh  softened  to  a  happy  sob- 
bing, 

And  every  little  longing,  living  thing 
Crept  forth  to  round  the  miracle  of  spring. 


A  FIR-CONE.  67 


A  FIR-CONE. 

FOUND  it  nested  in  the  snow, 
From    deathless   boughs    dropped 

lightly  down  ; 
And,  though  invisible,  I  know 

That  'neath  each  tiny  pent -house  brown, 
Formed  by  its  overlapping  shells, 
The  promise  of  a  fir-tree  dwells. 

Amid  life's  winter-time  and   snow 
God  placed  a  friendship  in  my  path, 

And,  while  I  hold  it  fast,  I  know 
That  every  hour  which  shapes  it  hath, 

Safe-held  from  all  earth's  storms,  for  me 

The  promise  of  eternity ! 


68  A   JUNE  NIGHT. 


A  JUNE  NIGHT. 

JJUSH !  it  is  Nature's  bed-time, 

The  woods  are  falling  asleep; 
Athwart  the  dusky  silence 
I  can  hear  their  breathing  deep. 
When  wary  winds,  a-tiptoe, 
Go  softly  whisp'ring  by 
The  branches  stir  in  slumber 
With  a  long-drawn,  sleepy  sigh. 

Why  should  my  heart  hold  vigil 

When  the  forest  is  at  rest  ? 
When  furled  are  the  sweet  wild-roses 

And  the  bird  has  sought  its  nest? 
When  the  Moon  like  some  bright  sentry, 

Patrols  her  heavenly  way, 
And  weary  hands  are  folded 

From  the  burden  of  the  day  ? 


Ah,  through  the  lonely  forest, 
Deep-hidden  from  human  sight, 


A   JUNE  NIGHT.  69 

Creep  creatures  that  shun  the  sunshine, 
To  wake  in  the  shadowy  night ! 

The  whip-poor-will  stays  his   sorrow 
Till  the  happy  thrush  is  dumb, 

And  flowers  that  shrink  from  daylight 
Expand  when  the  night  is  come. 

Who  seeth  the  countless  creatures 

That  deep  in  the  woodland  be  ? 
Who  counteth  the  throbs  of  longing 

No  human  eye  may  see, 
Or  recks  how  in  silent  darkness 

The  thronging  memories  creep, 
When  the  day's  light  laughter  stilleth, 

And  the  forest  is  asleep. 


70  A   COLUMBINE  HORN. 


A   COLUMBINE  HORN. 

TINY  scarlet  trumpet, 

Would  I  might  send  a  clear, 

Sweet  note  from  out  thy  vivid 

throat 
Straight  to  one  listening  ear 

So  clear,  so  sweet, 

His  willing  feet 
Should  follow  its  blithe  calling 

To  where  I  wait, 

Both  long  and  late, 
Though  lonely  night  is  falling. 

Nay,  did  he  care  for  coming 
There  were  small  need  to  wind 
The  faintest  blast ;  for  fain  and  fast, 
My  Love  his  way  would  find ! 

He  careth  not,  — 

I  am  forgot,  — 


A   COLUMBINE  HORN. 

In  vain  my  heart's  dumb  calling. 

In  vain  I  wait 

So  long  and  late, 
While  hopeless  night  is  falling. 


72  MOUNTAIN  LAUREL. 


MOUNTAIN   LAUREL. 

what   a  matchless   chisel   hath 
been  here! 

These    sculptured    buds    right    cun- 
ningly are  wrought 

In  rare  material,  more  than  Parian-clear, — 
Perfect  embodying  of  a  perfect  thought. 
What  do  these  silent  blossoms  say  to  you  ? 
To  me  their  carven  beauty  seems  to  show 
How  God   does   always  what    He  means  to 

do,- 

(Though  the  unfolding  of  his  will  be  slow, 
Reckoned  in  measure  of  our  fleeting  days.) 
For  think  by  what  sure  force  of  gracious 

doom 
Far-sundered    elements,    through    converging 

ways, 

Have    been   made   one   in    this   consummate 
bloom ! 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL.  73 

Blessed  the  word  to  us  who  understand ! 
Accept  we  life,  how  crude  soe'er  it  show, 
Leaving  its  perfecting  with  Him  whose  hand 
Modeled  the  mountain  laurel's  buds  of  snow. 


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